Whitney vs Whitney

It's a rainy day and I miss Albert and the old Whitney. We all went to the Armory where we were treated to 7 year old girls giving soliloquies as performance art. Actually it wasn't a soliloquy because periodically the seven year old would ask a strange, unanswerable question. Like:
"what is the relation between a sign and melancholy?"
Not making this up. Then she would stare at one person-in this case, me. Horrible. I wasn't going to offer up a fake attempt at an answer (like some other people), so I went with a sort of pensive far-away look, and a silent prayer (please stop, please stop...)
Then we listened to a piano playing itself under flashing lights while we were on a sort of grandstand that turned around and around.
As you all know, the Wehlen trio never misses this kind of thing-and we gaily ignore my mother mumbling why we can't just go to the Frick. "What's wrong with Rembrandt?"
I think we like it because unlike in California where judging is looked down upon (judgementally non judgemental) here in New York it's open season. Heather says she does this on the subway all the way home: judging other mothers (your child is up too late, she eats too much candy, she is a whiner..) She says its invigorating, and she gets off the train refreshed.  And no where is judging more high art than a contemporary museum. The old Whitney-God rest its soul- was our first stop every year. We looked at blank walls, we stared at blue dots, once we even stood under sacks of flour that were a copy of another show of sacks of flour-but therein apparently lay the art. The copying. It was dazzling.
But the best part was the dynamic of the people around you: people loving or hating it, or loving or hating other people who didn't get it, or people who just wanted a ho ho (they sold a version of them in the cafe). It was a judgement free-free zone. Judge way! look down on other  people!
The new Whitney is stunning: perfectly located downtown in the meat packing or Chelsea or whatever that is, with indoor outdoor flow, and happy light and architecture. It is so happy that it is like you see the exhibits together with your fellow man-as if you are all friends. It's almost boring-so much so that I got an itch to play an old fav game of mine: Flip the Orthodox Jew.
A secret shicksa game where we try to make a little eye contact with them...rattle their cage a bit. Oh don't judge! we country club types have so few opportunities to play the role of femme fatale. (I am wearing white tennis shoes for God's sake.) And lord knows we don't want their mothers to actually die of a heart attack. We just want to see if we can give them something to think about on the way home.
Anyway I like the new Whitney-it's impossible not to. I just wish the old one could have stayed for the days when you want to drink and scoff; the place for a rainy day and a rainy mood.

I tried to get T and F to the transportation museum, so we could see the story of the subway and the bridges, and Thomas actually said that between that idea and the cranberry juices, he was worried about me.
?? Are you kidding? who wouldn't want to do that? I told him Amy would have gone with..and he said: yes I know.
Pray for us bloggers- the crossing begins tomorrow!


xx

Man with a hat with a tan...

My father used to say that you knew you really loved someone when you wanted to put your face into theirs; nose to nose, like with infants. Or puppies.

(oh Albert..!!)

And you know you have a very good old friend when your first moments in New York involve sprinting down the street just so you can hang out while she gets her hair done. Below photo of Heather with two men that seemed like Saturday night live actors- making her stand while two of them cut her hair. Then when she started to voice her own opinion about which length, she was gay sushed and they flounced off, before handing her a $600

bill. 

The rest of our time has been filled with museums (above F at the Whitney which is a blast- but one still misses the weird old one..) and the view deck in the World Trade Center. I always forget until it's too late that I hate heights- I'm all gung ho til one of them drags me to an edge or a clear patch 102 stories up. 

I worry that we don't give New York its due: it's heaven to us, but is that because of the ship? Is it merely ship foreplay? 

I mean we talk constantly of leaving for the high seas... and we have never gone to a single show downstairs (woody Allen included) nor do we make a real effort with the best restaurants. Today we were so tired after hours in the meat packing district- we crawled into a nap and then rushed to see Jurassic park in an upper west side theater where you get to lie down in your seat. Then I had cranberry juice at dinner (on a Friday night!) 

Oh well. 

One day to go til freedom....

...And then there was one..

Leaving Albert was awful- something akin to the ending of a Russian novel or a Meg Ryan/Billy Crystal movie break up. 

The agony...

MMB is safely in the van in her weird running shoes and Nordstrom purse. In a weaker moment months ago she thought it would be zany to sit in economy plus with F, but now she is weakening...mumbling things like: we better buy all our food now Frederick, because in Steerage we won't get any. 

I am gently reminding her that first class on virgin isn't exactly Lutèce, but if fois gras appears, I'll send it back. 

On a lighter note, below is a text I wrote to the driver yesterday thinking it was F. 

"Poppy says you need to throw away all underwear that is too small ... Can you do that before OE comes? Xx"

He picked us up with assurances that all his underwear fit.

So happy to be on our way. We have plans with some of my favorite Arab men in London, as well as the Austrians and  beloved London Brighams. 

But first, see you in New York

Xx

Thomas thought he needed to add the ridiculousness of my yoga magazine obsession . I don't do yoga, but I am a whiz at the magazine buying .....

Goodbye to a beautiful mind

"I would not dare to say that there is a direct relationship between mathematics and madness, but there is no doubt that great mathematicians suffer from maniacal characteristics, delirium, and symptoms of schizophrenia. "
John Nash






Frederick just finished a semester-long project on Game Theory, and two days later John Nash and his wife died in a car crash. We are feeling sentimental around here; sentimental and inspired.
I can't do a better job than the New York Times at covering his work, so I wont try here; but everyone should read the newspaper and/or the book by Nasar.

Nash experienced every single thing I would want in life: a genuine contribution to the human condition; passionate romantic love; a brief descent into madness (where the divine surely visits); and best of all: redemption.
Then he exits quickly with his life partner at his side.

So here's a toast:
to the geniuses who help light our way; compassion for the madness and pain that comes with their gifts; and here's to love-
messy, crooked, enduring love.

(PS but he was wrong about not going for the blond. Always, always take a shot at the blond).

😢

The Jolly Brighams left only hours ago.. Sigh. So sad. We three ate a little lunch with lots of chocolate and coffee;  T and I turned toward the sea; F took a nap.

I am now at the pool next to a Fox News anchor who is gay (who knew?) and who is drinking martinis and smoking at 2 30 pm. I am thinking of spouting left wing San Francisco propaganda then asking him to stop f ing blowing smoke in my face. (Just because you blow smoke up your own ass for a living! Ha! Burn! 

....sigh ..These are exactly the kind of high-end jokes the children and I high five over. Sigh.)

Luckily I have discovered rum

cake (for those pesky pre cocktail hours.) and even luckier - it comes with carmelized salted ice cream..,

Below photos from happier times ...

Charlie at the outdoor gym; me and girls yucking it up.

Photos etc

Getting them to stop and pose has been challenging-but MMB has us under penalty of death if we fail; so we persevere. Tennis might be the next big thing: Kate is taking a lesson today, and wants to challenge us immediately following. Andrew and I have brought back Around the World- a game we played st Stinson years ago.

Two funny kids moments from yesterday: Kate reviewed the difference between forehand and backhand- and then only moments later, smashed a forehand winner to bring her brother one step closer to elimination. And second, when we played "telephone" but in foreign languages- and F went with "when we used the Blitzkreig we conquered Poland." This killed Andrew. 

("We ?!") 

Another weird Ocean Club moment: M and I were walking to the rooms, and I said: tell Andrew I will meet him at the court. And we hear this voice from the balcony above-an attractive man with a Southern accent waves us over and says: "I'm so sorry, but I thought I heard you were going to play a quick nine holes, and i would sure like to get in on that...you see mother is asleep at the moment, so I thought I could sneak away. "

Mother...maybe wife? maybe his mother? either way, why is he trapped on his balcony while she sleeps? is he trapped? is golf forbidden? the questions are endless....I hated to tell him a. we meant tennis, and b when he looked excited about that too, that he was not invited. I mean, how do we even know he can play? And besides he shouldn't have married her if she is such a downer...as Margaret says -she and I can't save the world. 

gardens leading to 12th century cloister bought from France

best bar ever

early morning

Add caption

Photos ..

technical difficulties!

Sorry! Photos and a post have not gone up...but stay tuned. My tech department is kite surfing; I will get him on it when he dries off. XX

Caribbean Days

So it is pretty good here at the Ocean Club. Spectacular grounds-complete with a 13th century cloister from France brought over by the man who owned this island once upon a time.
The children are wonderful-a merry little band with pink faces and sandy feet. We are doing a lot of exercising- Charlie is on an elite hockey team so he has to add in weight training; he and Andrew are the Jack and Lalanne of the crew-suggesting fun things like beach sprints and bench presses. There is a yoga class every morning-with Margaret as the star pupil, F and I play tennis; Thomas swims.
Sadly Tom Brady did not show up, but we got the next best thing in a bathing suit: Tony Bennett, age 88. (Wife is 48? I was sure she was the daughter until we saw them at the bar...)
The service is a bit iffy: very, very friendly, but not exactly the delta team under Frau Schneider's command. One our first night for example, I awoke to a sound like a very large leaf blower in my ear; as if someone were urgently blowing poisonous leaves off of my bed. It was unreal. I told Thomas we must call the front desk...he said "no" it would only lead to more phone calls...(?) Honestly I still have no idea what he was talking about...so I put a bathrobe over my little night clothes and walked down with sleep mask on my head,  to where two large local men were cleaning rubber mats with a round motorized brush.
I actually said to them, as if they were Frederick and Charlie: do you know what time it is??? I thought it was 5-but the clock in my room was wrong, and it was actually 3 45. They said they did. I said they had to stop. They asked if they could go 10 more minutes....I said
oh ok. fine. But that's it! only 10 more! (I am not the best negotiator in prime time, and certainly not when wearing skimpy clothing in front of unfamiliar men with a power tool). 
But the place has everything a kid could want-soft sand, turquoise seas, water slide park nearby, tennis courts, huge gym, two pools, and a garden that looks like something out of an old woodside estate.
Also each day they can rent bicycles that take them all over the property.

Tonight we are going out- tomorrow Andrew and Margaret are taking kiddies fishing. All good; most of us pink; everyone happy. Xx

Few photos...

Sorry I haven't written yet! So busy: full schedule of swimming tennis, jogging, beach sprinting; rum sampling. Few snapshots to whet the appetite. 

Miami MoMa

Spent part of Good Friday shopping and viewing contemporary art- complete with selfies at the museum, until the guard made us stop. 

South beach is beyond  weird; almost horrible; Las Vegas like- Las Vegas with better bodies. 

Charles has arrived (yay!) and has noticed the - let's call it "plastic surgery" on the beach.

Kate and he find everything diverting: Frederick and Hanna are less convinced. 

Either way, tomorrow we fly to the Bahamas and stalk Tom Brady who is rumored to be there. M is a huge fan and has been tanning in preparation for their first meeting. I have prepared by buying one Italian cover up after another. 

Between the two of us; I am sure he will invite us to his Easter egg hunt.

Elles sont arriveés!!

Miami

Awaiting M and the nieces (the nices) at rooftop pool. More on the hotel later.. I'm not sure if it's my imagination or not, but the future PEA prep at my side has just a bit more swagger than yesterday. 

Jumping into the unknown

So we fly to revisit day; a day that begins with handshakes from the principal of the school as well as the governor of New Hampshire. A student jazz band is playing, breakfast is served, head of alumni relations rushes to Frederick and tells him "his grandfather was very important to this school, but no pressure"; guy who interviewed F comes over, head of admissions comes over. Over this, over that, over the top. Kids are squired away with their hosts for the entire day. Parents listen to a panel of kids- the usual PEA assortment of math whizes and lacrosse players and pianists from Bhutan. They keep talking about the community- the love fest that comes only from hardship. Don't forget : the snow is still firmly on the ground in April, and there are five hours of homework a day. It's like prison or war: you bond in the trenches. 

The woman next to me has a choice of advanced calculus or history and she hates math. I say: I just may know someone who doesn't , and would she trade the calculus for an art history? I'll throw in a donut and my engagement ring. (anything for Thomas) 

I go to Spanish which was fine- but whatever, it's 9 kids all smart, all paying attention, good teacher. I learn the word for spinster in Spanish. The kids don't know it in English; She tells them it is arcane and derogatory and some women don't need a man thank you very much and who would like to read the part of Carlos?

Then I see my husband walking across the lawn after his calculus class. Or so he  says it was math class, because he looks more like a man who has had, let's call it a "Hugh Grant" in the back seat of a Cadillac. His cheeks are rosy and there is a spring in his step, unlike any post-calculus step I have ever seen. He is gobsmacked. He says it was "unbelievable";  and he so rarely uses that word. He tries to describe how intelligent and solicitous the kids were: how they taught it to each other with the teacher in the background, how delicious the conversation got -about how when a function nears a limit at infinity, the difference gets close to, but never reaches zero. In other words if I am trying to reach a soufflé and I keep cutting the space between me and it in half; I will never reach my soufflé. 

So we tour and listen to panels and eat Asian chicken in the dining hall. 

I notice kids that are big, and kids who are small- even smaller than F, with biceps his (pre pubescent) size. I listen to visiting kids ask about the math team while their mother, who has a  mustache, knits quietly. I see the ultimate upper east sider blow hard who is now a parent of incoming prep (freshman) who pipes up often with "I'm class of 90!!!" And basically offers up : "Andover sucks!!!" To any question. I notice how many kids come from just around the corner: Maine, Massachusetts , New Hampshire. I see a lot of good manners and kindness. I really do.

 Then T and I break away and watch girls' lacrosse practice in a large green field where the girls cheer for each other over every throw, no matter how bad. 

"Way to go Paxton!"

When we finally find F he is still cagey- said he had a good day, but won't give us a decision. It's infuriating. Thomas asks: are we buying a sweatshirt or not? 

He says he will really think about it (??!!).

Finally in desperation, I take Frederick down to dinner alone and offer him  a series of hypothetical questions:

"poppy and I think you are too unsure, so we are going to choose for you- stay home and try to re-apply next year. How does that make you feel?"

"Bad bad bad bad"

Ok... Now another: 

"high school is only one year. Where do you want to go in September for your one year?"

"Exeter"

(I am starting to see a pattern).

Then I tell him his father- who he believes is the most intelligent man he knows- said that if Frederick is truly "100% 50/50", as he claims, and we had to choose, he would be going to Exeter. 

Then F with huge sigh of relief says.. 

I'mgoingtoexeter. 

..I didn't say it earlier because I was worried you guys would be sad!!" 

Hallelujah. it's over. I get a little teary as I think of my father and the long, messy path that got us here. Of my profound love for a man and his profound love for this place- for its almost mystical allure; for the hold it has on people, even people who don't "succeed" here. (On my tour I met a guy whose niece had been kicked out twice. 

In then out, then in and out again. Tommy says it's called the double boot. 

And just when I thought the Brigham Exeter story was over, another one comes along and wants a crack at the legend; wants to sit at the Harkness table and jump into the icy river; wants to live away from all that is familiar because he's ready for the unfamiliar now. And the legend kindly says: 

Welcome kid: Pull up a chair; show us what you got. 

Xx

Spring Break/Boarding School bonanza

Obviously I will be lobbing in a blog entry from New Hampshire as F makes the final choice on where to attend high school. As most of you, (besides the Latvians) know- it has come down to the 250 year old New England boarding school where he would be the fourth generation Brigham to attend, and where several Brighams were expelled; or-the wonderful, small, intense local school where I went. Solid choices all.

I am not sure how I feel about empty nesting...could mean more trips to India and Boston; certainly it will mean more time with friends. 2015 has been the year of friendship- people popping in that I have not seen in a years, but whom I love exactly as much as ever. But at the same time, at least two people I adored and liked, just checked out; leading me to the uncomfortable conclusion that I never meant much to them in the first place.

All in all, it has been somewhat painful and draining, with lots of change-and change is not my fav.  Zen Buddhists believe that one should look at life like a river-a beautiful river that one would never wish to stop flowing. Except me. 

I wish it would stop flowing.

The good news is I see my inbox has an email entitled "the Secret to life"; so serenity should be mine soon. 

  
After PEA, we are headed to a laughably over priced, badly named, hotel in the Bahamas with the entire Brigham clan from Geneva! (A first for le blog) Yes, all three cousins with their parents and, if websites are to be believed, a shuttle from our hotel to the water slide park that means parents can stay home by the ocean making eyes at the cabana boy.

Stay tuned.
xx